Sheltered
by Amira13
Summary: A medical case helps House to trust again. And his trust may be the only way to help his patient.
1. Prologue

Note: I enjoy reading fanfiction. I didn't intend to write one myself. But I OD'ed on House and now this idea keeps teasing me. Let's see where it leads us.

English is not my mother tongue, so bear with me. C&C very welcome!

I do not own House.

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Prologue

_Stay here… in the darkness… soft darkness, safe nothingness…. you've got to hold on to it._

_Nothing... no sound, no light. No colors and …. no pain. _

_There was pain before. Before now. Before here. When? – No! Don't go there. It'll be loud and harsh and bitter and painful and pain…. and… pain…_

_It's safe here, in the nothingness, the void. Not even dark, for dark is just the absence of light. And light is pain. And pain is pain. And absence of pain is memory of pain…._

_But now memories try to sneak up on you, swirling by, too close, threatening to touch you, teasing, tempting, seducing…. _

_Maybe… there might be… warmth?... hope?... life?_

_Be careful. Ribbons of memory... trying to encircle you, enticing, longing… NO! Push them back! Back into the void, the nothingness… the safety you know._

_Now. Nothing else. No sound, no light. _

_No past. No future._

_Empty eternities._


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The early afternoon sun shone through the window, soft light flowing over the carpet, filling the few empty spaces in the book shelf, caressing the couch. The vacant couch.

Wilson sighed, closing the last of a dozen or so files that piled up on his desk. An annoying reminder of the weeks during his resignation after Amber's death. He had tried to get away from the memories that clung to this place, from the people that looked at him with pity and concern. From his own emptiness and despair.

And he had found that it was his own anger that he could not get rid of, that tinged his thoughts, his feelings and his reasoning. Anger at life, fate, the bus driver, public transport in general. Anger at flu viruses and flu medication. Anger at himself.

Anger at House.

He sighed again, rubbing the bridge of his nose. _Let go! - you've moved on now._

Yes, it had taken a long time for him to work through his issues, to get over the shock of loosing Amber, and even more so of loosing a future together that they would not have. He knew now that assigning blame would not heal his wounds. He had tried it, and it had only kept him hurting even more.

He knew that there really was no one to blame. Apart from fate maybe? Life? God? But James Wilson was too much of an optimist to blame life, and though he was not deeply religious he needed to believe in some kind of higher power.

_Live is a rollercoaster – yeah, very helpful!_ But ultimately true. _And we're all in for the ride._

He stretch lazily and got up, collecting the newly updated patient files, ready to be sent to administration. His eyes fell on the patterns of light and shadow that had slowly moved from the carpet to the wall. A warm see of sunlight bathing the couch in shades of ochre.

The empty couch.

It had been three weeks since the infamous road trip – or abduction as House might call it -, three weeks since his return to PPTH. He had settled back into the daily routine of the hospital, endured all the welcomes of colleagues who knew him and ignored the curious looks of those that merely knew _of _him. Now, things were beginning to feel normal again.

The empty couch though didn't feel normal.

In those three weeks things between House and him had been… good. They had kind of 'not talked' about what had happened. Had admitted to missing each others company – Wilson in words, House in his own way. They had almost gone back to their usual sarcastic bickering.

To outsiders it might seem as if House hadn't changed at all, like the last months hadn't touched or affected him. But Wilson new better. While House put on his usual mask of cynical callousness for all the world to see Wilson now and again caught a glimpse of his soul, left raw and insecure. And in those short moments Wilson felt a tide of guilt wash over him. He wasn't responsible for Houses hurt – it had been his constant companion since childhood – but he couldn't deny having added to it in the last year.

There was only a small spot of sun left on the couch.

House had come by his office from time to time, mostly for a consult. Wilson knew that more often than not House didn't really need his input but he played along, discussing the patient's situation and finally agreeing on Houses diagnosis. They managed to fall back into their usual pattern, formed through years of friendship. But still House sometimes seemed … cautious, almost insecure. He didn't barge in like he owned the place, stretching out on the couch and annoying Wilson by tapping his cane no end or whistling some Jim Morrison tune till Wilson would give in and agree to an evening of bear and pizza and B-movies.

Wilson touched the soft leather of the now fully shadowed couch. He missed House. And he would do everything to earn back his trust. His trust in their friendship.

Taking a deep breath Wilson felt invigorated, determined to achieve his aim. He glance at his watch and couldn't help but smile. He knew where to find House.


End file.
